“So, you’re the one who actually calls the shots in House Erce.”
This man was one of the true power brokers who controlled the Erce County from behind the scenes.
Ian had only heard that if Schrantz won the territorial war, the Erce family’s advisor would become the de facto ruler—but this was his first time seeing the man in person.
‘I’ve got an idea.’
A new way to teach Daylan some manners.
“Forgive my intrusion, but may I ask what you and His Lordship were discussing?”
“Hm? Ah, we’ve only just met. Actually, there was something I wanted to discuss—perhaps I could speak with you instead?”
“Of course! Please, go ahead.”
Daylan’s face twisted further.
Ian was blatantly ignoring him in favour of his advisor.
Then, Ian dropped the bomb.
“I heard this month’s war reparations were short. Care to explain?”
Boris paled.
“My deepest apologies! Bandit raids have caused some damage to our lands. We informed Count Schrantz that we would pay the remaining sum, plus interest, next month—but we’ve yet to receive a reply. I planned to personally deliver our answer during today’s banquet.”
“Is that so? I almost misunderstood, then.”
Ian glanced pointedly at Daylan. Catching the hint, Boris asked cautiously:
“Did… something happen while I was away?”
“I was hoping to discuss this matter, but Count Erce informed me he never wishes to speak with me again. For a moment, I wondered if House Erce intended to break its agreements.”
Daylan flinched.
He knew exactly what would happen if they violated the treaty.
The terms were clear: Any breach would be seen as intentional evasion, granting Schrantz the right to nullify the agreement and resume the war.
House Erce was already on the brink—their lands reduced, their funds drained by corrupt retainers, and their military crippled after losing the territories where most of their troops had been stationed.
If war broke out again, even a five-year-old could predict the outcome.
Schrantz would sweep over them like a tidal wave, erasing House Erche from history.
“M-My Lord! Did you truly say such a thing to the young master of Schrantz?!”
Silence.
And silence was as good as confirmation.
Boris’s face turned ashen.
Though Boris was the one exploiting House Erce, he was also the only thing keeping them afloat—sustainable corruption required survival, after all.
“I was planning to prepare for war after this banquet, but it seems I overestimated your intentions.”
Daylan’s expression mirrored Boris’s horror.
“Please forgive us! His Lordship is still inexperienced. Surely you can overlook this?”
“That’s not for you to apologize for.”
The message was clear: The offender must apologize himself.
Understanding, Boris whispered urgently:
“My Lord, you must apologize for your rudeness at once.”
Grit.
Daylan’s fists clenched, his face burning with humiliation.
Had Ian lied, he might’ve protested—but every word was true.
‘This is the weight of being a lord. Swallow your pride.’
Ian had just taught him two lessons: Words have consequences, and defiance has a price.
Daylan’s teeth ground together.
“I… beg your forgiveness… for my discourtesy.”
His fists trembled.
The shame of defeat, the collapse of his house’s prestige—now compounded by groveling before the man responsible.
“Forgiveness? There’s no need. Today simply wasn’t your day. I’ll look forward to meeting you again when your spirits improve.”
The hierarchy was now crystal clear.
So was the power of a single word.
“Hngh—!”
Face red as molten iron, Daylan finally snapped.
Pride prevented him from sobbing in front of Ian—instead, he turned and fled into the banquet hall.
Ian stared blankly after him.
‘Hey, if you run off crying, I look like the villain here!’
He’d planned to ease up, considering the boy’s age, but he hadn’t expected tears.
Now he worried the other nobles would whisper about the heartless brute who made a child cry.
“M-My Lord?!”
Boris, meanwhile, could only watch Ian nervously.
Leaving without a word was another breach of etiquette—but Ian had bigger concerns.
“Advisor Boris. A word.”
“I—I’ll personally atone for His Lordship’s rudeness—”
“Just calm him down enough that this doesn’t reflect poorly on me. Then we’ll pretend it never happened.”
A simple request: Stop the crying before it ruins my reputation.
And, well—a lord bawling in public wasn’t a good look for House Erce either.
If Boris smoothed things over, the incident would vanish.
But then—
Grin.
The corners of Boris’s lips curled ear-to-ear.
‘Ah. So the young master knows how things really work here.’
He’d misunderstood.
To him, Ian’s words meant: “As long as the reparations keep flowing, do whatever you want in House Erce. I won’t interfere.”
“Of course. I’ll attend to His Lordship at once.”
“See that you do.”
Relieved, Ian sighed as Boris hurried off.
‘Well, crisis averted. At least that brat won’t dare cross me again.’
A childish outburst today would strangle his future influence.
Boris would use this incident to tighten his grip, leaving Daylan even more powerless.
Only one concern remained:
‘Don’t die of rage-induced illness too soon.’
They still had a decade of reparations to extract.
Why ten years?
Because the sum was carefully calculated to require that long to pay.
For the next ten years, House Erce would be Schrantz’s purse.
Nothing more, nothing less.
♪∼♬
The sound of music echoed through the banquet hall.
The quiet performance had shifted into something livelier without anyone noticing.
“I should head in.”
The sun had already set. Sensing that the guest of honour would soon make her entrance, Ian stepped inside.
“Ian. Where have you been all this time?”
Ian offered a convenient excuse.
“Ah, my stomach acted up. And this place is so vast—it took me a while to find you, Father.”
“Is that so? A shame. Many nobles were eager to meet you. Now that our house has some breathing room, we should start building connections.”
“Of course, Father.”
‘What a bother.’
His words didn’t reflect his thoughts, but he couldn’t deny Hugo’s point.
There was no real downside to befriending nobles.
One never knew when an unexpected ally might be needed.
And sometimes, those connections could pull you out of a crisis.
‘Though I’ll have to return the favors, of course.’
But that was just how the game worked.
‘Schrantz can’t survive in isolation forever.’
He decided he’d start mingling—when the time was right.
As the lively music faded, the hall fell into hushed silence.
“Announcing His Grace, the Duke of Endran, and the Lady Viola!”
The herald’s voice boomed through the hall as the Duke and Viola made their entrance.
The men in attendance couldn’t tear their eyes away from Viola.
The Duke swept his gaze over the assembled nobles and spoke.
“If I go on a long speech, you’ll all be asleep before the festivities even begin. So I’ll keep this brief.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“My gratitude to all who have joined us on this joyous occasion.”
And with that, the greeting was over.
Viola lifted the hem of her skirt slightly and curtsied.
“Thank you for gracing us with your presence despite your busy schedules.”
“Ah, as stunning as the rumors say!”
“Even her voice is enchanting!”
“And her grace! Truly the North’s finest beauty!”
A simple greeting was all it took to send the young noblemen into a frenzy.
‘They’ve all lost their minds. Over a greeting.’
To Ian, their reactions were absurd.
Had they seen the Death Stalker beneath that smile, they wouldn’t be so captivated.
Then again, some of their enthusiasm was likely performative—given the Duke’s presence.
The Duke’s voice thundered once more.
“Let the banquet begin—in honor of my one and only daughter, Viola de Endran!”
The orchestra struck up again, and the celebration officially commenced.
Almost immediately, a line of men formed, each holding a gift to present to Viola.
Hugo nudged Ian.
“Go on, Ian. It’s your turn.”
“Yes, Father.”
Since it was her birthday, Ian joined the queue, gift in hand.
One by one, the pile of presents in front of Viola grew, and the line shrank—until finally, it was Ian’s turn.
When their eyes met, she smiled sweetly.
“And you are?”
Though they had met before.
Officially, this was their first meeting.
Ian followed her lead.
“The honor is mine. Ian von Schrantz.”
The moment he introduced himself, the nobles’ attention snapped toward him.
Many had wondered who this unfamiliar noble was—only to realize he was the Schrantz heir they’d heard so much about.
“That’s the young master of Schrantz?!”
“He’s… rather handsome…”
“If only he were my brother.”
“What kind of nonsense are you spouting, sister?”
Unintentionally, Ian found himself the sudden focus of every noble lady in the room.
“Ah, I see. I’ve heard much about you. They say you’ve accomplished remarkable things.”
“Not at all. Luck simply favoured me.”
“How modest. I’ve been hoping to hear your tales firsthand. Would you spare me some time tomorrow? My father would love to listen as well.”
Frankly, Ian just wanted to hand over the gift and leave.
But too many eyes were on them—and the Duke stood right beside Viola.
‘If I refuse, even as a joke, the Duke might skin me alive.’
So he had no choice but to accept.
Assuming it was just empty politeness, he replied:
“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
“Really? How wonderful.”
Viola laughed softly, as if genuinely delighted.
Ian couldn’t help but admire her acting.
‘She could make a living on the stage.’
She played the role of a gracious host meeting a stranger perfectly.
At the same time, he felt a prickling gaze burn into his back.
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